This Case Is Gonna Kill Me (25 page)

“If you’re done in the bathroom, I’ll just nip in and take a shower,” John said.

“Sure. I’ll get dressed in the living room. I don’t suppose you packed up any makeup for me?” I said jokingly.

Deadpan, he pointed at the small cosmetic bag underneath the coffee table. I swept it up, pulled back the zipper, and stared at my Bare Minerals makeup. John was leaning against the bedroom doorjamb, grinning at me. “Okay, you are practically perfect in every way.”

I finished dressing and checked my cell phone. The battery was stone dead. I looked around for a landline, but didn’t find one. It seemed Álfar—or at least this Álfar—were hip and with it. I leaned against the closed bedroom door and called, “May I borrow your cell phone and check in with the office?”

The door opened. John wore a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else. I had wondered if his chest hair was going to be as motley as the hair on his head. Now my question was answered. He didn’t have hair on his chest.
Of course he doesn’t; that would be way too declassé
. What he did have were ripped abs and a flat belly. Water glistened in the hollow at the base of his throat. I had a desperate urge to press myself against him and kiss away the dampness. Tangle my fingers in his amazing hair, feel his hands on my back. My eyes wandered to that mobile mouth, the soft curve of his lips. I wondered how he tasted.

“Sure,” he said, and padded over to the dresser where he recovered the phone. He tossed it to me. I didn’t embarrass myself; I caught it. “Let me get dressed, and we can go in together. I’ve got to make a report to Cecelia on a personal injury case she’s handling.”

The door closed again, and I settled on the sofa, bare feet resting on the coffee table, and called Norma.

“Linnet Emery’s office.”

“Hi, Norma, it’s me—”

“Where are you!? The office is like a stirred anthill! Mr. Ishmael even sent the police to your apartment. Daniel Deegan is going to be here in forty minutes!”

It took a moment for the name to penetrate and get placed. Once it did it sent me jumping to my feet. “Deegan? The guy who runs Securitech?”

“The same.”

“Why’s he coming to the office?”

“I don’t know. His assistant called this morning, requesting a meeting with you.”

I paced around the living room. Gadzooks twined between my legs and nearly tripped me. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. What does this mean? What does he want?”

Norma’s tone was waspish. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why don’t you come to work and find out for yourself?”

The tone and the unspoken criticism snapped my control. I got angry. “I nearly got killed yesterday!” I yelled into the phone.

“What, again?”

The deadpan delivery snapped me out of the irrational rage. Why had I assumed that my secretary would know what had happened, and even if she did know, why would I assume that this was going to be as big a deal to her as it was to me?

“Sorry. Thanks,” I mumbled.

“You weren’t close enough for me to throw a glass of water on you,” Norma replied.

“Are you ever sympathetic?” I asked.

“Rarely.”

“I’m on my way.” I hung up the phone and rushed toward the bedroom door. It opened before I could knock, and John stepped out. I gripped the front of his shirt.

“We’ve got to go now. Daniel Deegan, the head of Securitech, is coming to the office. To see me. I don’t look very professional. He called for an appointment this morning. I wish I had time to change. Guess I don’t. I’m going to die.”

John disengaged my hand from the crisp material of his shirt and, holding my hand, led me through the kitchen and to the front door. “Probably not at the office.”

“Why not? That’s where it nearly happened last time.”

“Murderers don’t normally make appointments.”

I opened my mouth, shut it again firmly, and looked up at him. John was smiling warmly down at me.

“Sorry, I’ll stop being nuts.”

“Actually, I think you’re remarkably sane for someone who’s survived two close brushes with death within a three-week period.” And he bent down and gave me a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

He tasted as good as he looked.

17

We set a speed record getting from Greenwich Village to the office. Sitting tensely in the front seat next to John, I asked if we were being followed. He didn’t answer, just shook his head.

He dropped me in front of the building. I paused to pull up the handle on the roller bag and went running through the lobby. I hit the elevator call button about twenty times until a car arrived. I checked my watch.
Fifteen minutes until Deegan time.

I dove out of the elevator on the seventieth floor and headed straight for the bathroom. I had been waiting until John finished his shower to put on my makeup, which meant I was barefaced against the world. I might be dressed in slacks, an Oxford shirt, and sandals, but I was at least going to have on my face when I faced Daniel Deegan.

A few people must have seen me blow past, because suddenly Caroline, Juliette, and Cecelia were in the bathroom with me. I took out the brushes and the little jars of makeup. Conversation rattled around me like machine-gun fire.

“Detective Washington came to the office.”

“Went into a private meeting with the senior partners—”

“Well, it was supposed to be private—”

My hands started shaking, and I set down the lid holding a tiny dollop of base and the brush on the edge of the sink.

“But that little turd Bruce was serving coffee—”

“And he heard some of what happened, and told the secretaries—”

Caroline picked up the makeup and pressed it back into my hands. Instinct took over, and I feathered the base over my face.

“After that it spread through the firm like viral video—”

I moved on to the blush while Cecilia said, “When the news reached David Sullivan, he became a walking, stalking, snarling monster—”

“He actually lifted Norma out of her chair, demanding to know where you were.”

“Have you got a comb?” Juliette asked. I pointed at my purse. She dug through until she found it, then handed it to me. I began to lightly tease and fluff my hair, trying to defeat my stubborn center part and cowlick.

“The senior partners called
all
the partners in for a huddle in the big conference room—”

“But not David. He wasn’t included.”

“And then the call came that Deegan wanted a meeting with you—”

“And Norma’s been burning up the phone lines trying to reach you.”

“So, the partners don’t know about Deegan coming in?” I asked.

“No, they told everyone they weren’t to be disturbed,” Caroline answered.

“We can guess what they’re discussing,” Juliette said grimly.

“Me,” I said bleakly.

“And I’m sure we all know how Ryan’s going to vote,” Cecelia added.

“Right now, whether I keep my job is the least of my worries.” I brought up my left wrist and looked at my watch. “Deegan will be here any minute.”

Cecelia stepped back. Juliette handed me my lip pencil and lipstick tube. I outlined and painted my lips. Opened my arms in a
what do you think?
gesture.

“You’re ready,” Caroline said.

“Knock ’em dead,” Cecelia added.

At the word
dead
I shuddered, but I squared my shoulders, picked up my purse, grabbed my roller bag, and left the sanctuary of the ladies’ room.

As I crossed the central lobby, all conversation ceased and the secretaries and assistants stared at me. Behind me, I heard the
ding
of an elevator arriving. I headed toward Norma’s desk. She handed me the usual clutch of message slips. She then gave an imperceptible head nod and muttered, “He’s here.”

I turned, bracing for what I would face. Whatever I’d pictured it wasn’t this. Deegan was of medium height and slight build. He had a slightly receding chin, and his jawline had started to soften. Soft brown hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, and while it might have been charming fifteen years ago, now it looked incongruous against the crow’s feet and the two deep gouges on either side of his mouth. He was very well dressed in a bespoke suit, Italian loafers, and a crisp maroon dress shirt.

Flanking him were an older man with a thick waist and quivering jowls, also dressed in a suit, and a woman in her late thirties carrying a slim briefcase and dressed in the woman lawyer’s uniform—skirt, sensible heels, blouse, linen jacket.

For the briefest instant Deegan’s eyes rested on me, and I saw the barest flash of recognition, then his gaze flicked away, and he addressed the room.

“I’m looking for Ms. Ellery.”

Nice save, asshole,
I thought, but clearly he’d recognized me, which lent support to John’s and my belief that Securitech was behind the attacks. Then I remembered my picture plastered all over the papers and the Internet.
Of course he would recognize you, dumbass.
Yes, I would be a terrible cop.

“I’m Linnet Ellery.” I stepped forward and forced myself to extend my hand.

He smiled as we shook. “Pleased to meet you.” He indicated the man and woman with him. “Stan Buchanan and Peggy Waite.”

Buchanan shook my hand, but his expression was sour. The lawyer from Gunther, Piedmont, Spann and Engelberg towered over me. Peggy was six feet if she was an inch, and very thin. She had kind brown eyes and a warm smile.

“I’ve booked the small conference room on the seventy-third floor,” Norma said.

That was the room where I’d had my lovely confrontation with Doug May. I hoped this wasn’t going to be a repeat.

As we rode up in the elevator, Peggy initiated a bland conversation, I reciprocated, and we chatted about the difficulty, despite hourly flights, of air travel between DC and New York, the weather, and the latest Broadway shows. Deegan occasionally added a comment; Buchanan just continued to glower.

Upstairs, the awful Bruce showed us into the conference room and asked if anyone wanted anything. No one did, but he still lingered until I almost physically pushed him out and shut the door. Deegan, Waite, and Buchanan were already seated when I turned back. Peggy snapped open her case and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

“Mr. Deegan has authorized me to make an offer of twenty million dollars to your clients.” Buchanan emitted his first sound, something between a growl and a snort. “He has further authorized us to pay Ishmael, McGillary and Gold’s share of that settlement amount so that Mrs. Abercrombie and her children will net five million each.”

I dropped into my chair, going down like a poleaxed cow in a slaughterhouse. I opened my mouth several times, but I couldn’t force out a sound.
From four million to twenty million. What the hell?
Finally, I reached over and accepted the sheaf of papers. I read quickly through the terms. They were very clear, and there appeared to be no bombshells hidden in the language.

I looked up. Deegan smiled at me. Or at least his lips curved. The expression never reached his eyes. They were all calculation. Once again my mouth took on a life of its own, and I said pretty much what I’d been thinking. “What brought this on?” I asked, though I was pretty damn sure what had happened. Thomas Gillford had happened. My silence and acquiescence were being bought.

“This case has been a time sink for our firm and a monetary drain for Mr. Deegan,” Waite said. “He came to us and said he wanted to get it settled and off his plate, so…” She made an eloquent open-hands gesture.

Deegan spoke up. “I also know that Henry felt bad about Marlene and particularly about the children. I think this is what he would have wanted me to do.”

“You couldn’t have come to this conclusion seventeen years ago?” I responded dryly.

Deegan’s smile stiffened, but he remained smooth. “Probably a poor decision on my part.”

“So, do we have a goddamn deal?” Buchanan finally spoke, and he was as charming as I’d expected.

“I’ll need to talk with my clients.” I stood. “I’ll call them now, but they might want a few days to consider.”

“Well, that’s where I am going to play a little hardball,” Deegan said.

I looked inquiringly at his attorney. Peggy looked faintly uncomfortable, but her voice was firm as she said, “There’s a time limit on the offer. Mr. Deegan wants an answer in two hours or he’s withdrawing the offer.”

It took me aback. It wasn’t how negotiations were normally conducted. I gave Deegan a thin smile. “Well, then I’d better make that phone call.”

My footsteps were slow and leaden as I made my way to the elevator, but there was no way out of it. I had to make that call. “Get Marlene Abercrombie and her brood on a conference call,” I ordered Norma when I reached my office. “Right now.”

I entered my office and closed the door. I sat at the desk where Chip had plotted to give the company to the woman Henry Abercrombie had loved, and I felt like shit. A few minutes later, my phone rang. “I’m connecting you with Ms. Ellery,” I heard Norma say. “You’re on with Mrs. Abercrombie, Andrew, Angela, and Natalie,” Norma said, and there was a click as she left the line.

I plunged in without any preamble. “There’s a new settlement offer from Securitech, and you’d be crazy not to take it.”

“What is it?” the son said, overriding his mother’s knee-jerk statement of “No settlement! I want it all!”

“Twenty million dollars. That’s five million to each of you.”

The daughters gasped. “No,” Marlene snapped.

“Hell, yes,” said Andrew.

“Yes, take it,” said Angela.

“No!” It was almost a howl from Marlene.

“Oh, Mother, shut up! You’re old and you’re going to die soon. This money will make a real difference in our lives.” A lovely comment from Natalie.

“Mommy, you’ve just been fighting for the sake of fighting, but Daddy’s been dead for seventeen years. He doesn’t care. Let it go. Take the money and enjoy the rest of your life,” Angela implored.

“She’s giving you really good advice, Mrs. Abercrombie. If you continue with this, the odds are that you and your children will end up with nothing. Your position is incredibly weak. This is a gift from Deegan. Take it.”